


Captive

by Agent_Talis



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen, Kidnapped, M/M, Prompt: Captive, Ray Doyle - Freeform, Weekly Obbo, William Bodie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Talis/pseuds/Agent_Talis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle's trapped, but his greatest danger isn't his captors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tea and Swiss Roll Weekly Obbo challenge: Captive.  
> Better late-ish than never.

 It feels like he’s been there days.

He’s certainly thirsty enough for it to have been days and very hungry.

 Arms aching, head pounding, leaden cold draining the life from his limbs; Doyle knows that the situation is beyond his control and has been for a long time. He’s spent hours pulling on his restraints, hours trying to attract attention, hours silently calling for Bodie, hoping against hope that in a minute, a moment, Bodie is going to come bursting through that door with all his devils loose.

Bodie only ever lets his devils free for Doyle.

Bodie will be looking for him, he knows that. Point Bodie at a target and that target will be dragged to Cowley – in pieces if needs be – and handed over to the authorities no matter how long it takes. Before he met Doyle justice might have been delivered the old fashioned way, no law required.

The heat of Africa still shimmers in his eyes sometimes. It’ll be there now, Doyle knows, Bodie pretending to be calm, but really he’s panicking inside.

At least, Doyle hopes Bodie’s not panicking too much. He needs Bodie to remain rational, logical. Cowley will be keeping him in line. Keeping him focused on methods of finding Doyle.

Just keep calm and think! Think your way out of this.

Thinking is about all he can do. He's done it a lot in these lonely hours. Doyle hasn't seen his captors since they slung him in here in this old priest hole - bound and gagged beyond even Houdini’s skill to escape – secured him to the beam and taken his photo. They had been gone before his eyes had recovered from the assault. He could hear them occasionally, moving about, laughing; probably laughing at him.

The thought makes him burn with fury.

Doyle doesn’t like to think of the moment the photograph slid out of the envelope; along with his ID card and several curls. They’d laughed when they’d cut those off too. He can imagine the tightening of Bodie’s face, the sudden coldness of his eyes. He can imagine him yelling at Cowley, getting flustered, getting furious. Cowley would reply; curtly, icily and put his impertinent agent in his place.

Doyle wonders if they are going to negotiate. He wonders if they are looking for him because there’s a lot happening in London at the moment and one CI5 agent stupid to get himself captured is probably not at the top of Cowley’s priorities.

He doesn’t even know who has grabbed him.

Doyle tries not to think like this. Bodie will be looking for him. Bodie would be coming.

He’s so thirsty. His throat hurts. He wants Bodie to be here. He wants Bodie to hug him close and tell him everything will be alright.

It doesn’t look like it at the moment.

Water. He needs water. He goes to sleep, dreaming of Bodie.

 

Gunfire wakes him from his feverish doze. Doyle jerks groggily. Running feet thud outside the door and the crack of light is bright. Morning, it must be morning. Screams reach him and his heart flutters into double time. Is this a rescue? He tries to cry out, but his throat is too dry to articulate that he’s alive and here and waiting to be rescued.

When they get in here, he thinks dizzily, someone better have water.

The gunfire falls silent, but the silence is soon broken. Adrenaline spikes through Doyle. He can hear Cowley yelling that they’ve cocked up, that they moved too soon. And now they’re tearing apart the house, looking for him. Doyle wants to beat the wall, scream Bodie’s name. _I’m here! In here! Help me!_

But he can’t move and he can’t speak and, from the sound of it, they don’t know about the priest hole. Only now is Doyle starting to panic. He’s heard the tales of priests and how the hunters could search for weeks searching for the hiding spots. He remembers that sometimes the priests starved to death. He glances around, looking for something, anything, to make a noise and alert someone to his presence.

It is several hours later when voices break through to his reeling mind. “He’s got to be here!”

_Bodie! I am here! I’m here! Get me out!_

“None of the rooms match the photo, 3.7.” Cowley’s trying to placate Bodie and Doyle’s begging him not to, _don’t leave me here…_

“Sir, Murphy found his coat upstairs. He is here! I know it!”

_Yes!_

“We’ve searched everywhere, Bodie. He’s not here.” Doyle wants to sob. He can hear the agents trooping past, back outside. No! He can’t die here. Not when Bodie’s so close. What if they leave? He guesses that he’ll have two days tops before he’ll die of thirst. Bodie won’t cope when he finds out that Doyle perished, trapped only a few feet from him. This can’t be happening. This won’t happen. _Bodie!_

“Where else could he be?” Bodie is furious, his voice carrying clearly through to his partner.

He hears Cowley sigh, “Bodie… it could have been a trap all along. Doyle could be somewhere else or he could be dead.”

_No!_

“No,” Bodie snaps the word, but Doyle catches the break in his voice. “No.”

“Come along, laddie.” The footsteps start to recede and Doyle hangs his head, frustrated tears burning in his eyes. _Bodie!_

Doyle wishes that he and Bodie are really telepathic. He experiments, calling Bodie’s name over and over, even trying to contact Cowley once. Not that he really believes in that New Age crap, but he’s willing to try anything.

Suddenly he stops. The footsteps are returning. He squirms in the ropes, but he doubts that whoever it is can hear the faint squeaking of the twine. The footsteps stop thoughtfully and Doyle holds his breath.

_Please._

The door creaks once and swings open, immersing Doyle in light. He squints against the painful glare, but he knows that silhouette so well. Bodie is beside him in a heartbeat, relief bleeding from his words, a knife appearing like magic between his fingers. He rips the tape from Doyle’s mouth and begins sawing at his bonds.

“What… the… the hell were… you d-doing…?”

Bodie’s words come back to him, harsh and cracking, “Looking for you, you berk!”

Doyle laughs, but it is more like a dry cough, “Bet you were crap… crap at hide and seek.”

“You need a drink?” Bodie asks as he helps Doyle to his feet. His legs are like jelly and Bodie has to keep a grip around his waist to stop him sliding back to the ground.

“Stupid question.”

Then the world tilts and Doyle falls, unconscious, into Bodie’s arms.

 

Cowley watches as Bodie carries Doyle out of the house and makes sure not to say anything. He sees the murderous glance Bodie throws in his direction and towards the other agents. Bodie won’t trust them with his partner.

His lover, Cowley now knows.

It is funny, he thinks, that he never realised before. Him! Famed for his triple thinks and he didn’t realise that his two best agents were in love.

He must be slipping.

Not that Bodie has confirmed it in so many words, but Cowley knew the moment that they learned that Doyle was being held captive.

But now… Cowley keeps a safe distance from Bodie when he climbs into the ambulance with Doyle. He sees how Bodie attends to his lover and curses himself for not grasping it before.

Bodie’s just as much a captive to Doyle as Doyle was to the terrorists.

Except, Cowley doesn’t think captive is the right word.

Captive implies unwillingness.

Devoted is a better word.


End file.
